Ranma Versus Harry -- The Great Pissing Contest
by BiGDeal
Summary: A chance meeting puts the greatest wizard of our age up against the greatest martial artist living in a drinking contest. The impact of the contest and what happens afterwards


**Author's notes**…. As always, the original copyright holders retain their rights, and this is intended for the non-commercial enjoyment of the readers. Comments and reviews are always welcome, as long as they bear in mind that I am not a perfect typist, do not always get timelines right, muddle items from manga and anime without regard for canon, and have other personal quirks like my low sense of humour. I plan on staying on the ecchi side of things, but these last few entries are definitely mature in outlook.

My readers are familiar with me recommending another author's works. This time around, I'm going to post ROBST once again. Mainly because I've spent the last month reading a half-dozen of stories that I've previously read and recommended. The ones that I've been re-reading are Harry Potter stories, which explains where this particular brain-worm originated.

A bar somewhere in Tiaguana, possibly equidistant from London and Nerima.

Two men wandered into the establishment (if it could be called that) and came up to the bar and sat down on the nearest available stools, staring at the massive list of beers that were claimed to be available. The bartender looked over and came up to them.

"What will you two have?"

The two men in question, startled and then looked at the other person, each realizing that the bartender had just lumped them together even though they had never seen each other before, and probably never would again. Several false starts at deciding which particular beer they wanted from the large board behind the bar were attempted.

Finally, the one on the right, pointed at the board and whispered, "Cripple Cock Barnyard Scrumpie? Do you actually have that?" Looking over at his newfound neighbour, he muttered, "Eight point four percent alcohol by volume. Wants to make you go 'oooo' and 'argh' and speak in a Cornish accent. Or at least, that's what the urban legend is."

The one on the left looked at the board where the first had pointed. "Just what is it supposed to be? Can't be a beer, can it?"

The first looked midly surprised and then recovered. "Cider, fermented apple juice if you've never had it before." Looking at the bartender, he asked. "you got it draft or in the bottle?"

The bartender turned to the monitor and keyboard and tapped in a query. "Bottles, sir. Room temperature." His voice dripped a condescending attitude.

The first one grimaced and glanced at his estwhile neighbour. "You ever had an English cider?"

"Are they as bad as English beers?"

"Sounds like all you've ever had has been cheap sake and Japanese beers."

The neighbour on the right snickered. "Looks like you're offering a challenge. Is that in trading national insults or in trying obscure beers and whatever else they server here?"

"Only if they are drinkable and are guaranteed to get us drunk. Let me guess. You never turn down a challenge. Right? If that is, then let's get started. Oh, before we get started, have you got enough funds to cover your half of the bar bill as well as providing prize money for the winner?"

The other raised a finger in the air. "How are we going to decide who the winner is?"

"Easy," came the response. "We hand over our wallets to the bartender and he verifies that we each have sufficient funds for a bender plus a taxi ride back to our hotel as well as good tip for our friend, the bartender, here. Loser is the first one to throw up, pass out or refuse a drink. Each recommends a beverage from the list above, we each drink that beverage, we alternate until an end condition is reached. If our bartender cannot provide two of a choice, it is ranked as a failed choice and the other person can take their turn. Any disagreement will be decided by our bartender here."

"Done!" came the response, as he reached for his wallet and handed it to the bartender. The bartender flipped the wallet open and riffled though the currency, closed the wallet and slid it back to its owner. The other then pulled out his wallet and passed it to the bartender, who raised his eyebrows at the sheer amount of money in that wallet, did an even quicker riffle thought the contents, closed it and then passed it back.

The bartender leaned forward and looked at the two. "you do know that you both have flashed considerable amounts of money and have announced that you are in a drinking challenge? There are people who would be tempted to take advantage of the situation."

Both nodded and the one on the right spoke first. "I'm a martial artist, one of the best in the world. Even drunk, I can defend myself."

The one on the left looked him up and down. "Police officer trained in unarmed combat and have been in a number of hotspots around the world including Afghanistan, the Balkans, and World Cup games where British lager louts are in the stands. Who decides who goes first?"

The bartender coughed. "Why don't we start with the cider since this started things off?"

The two nodded, and the one on right stuck out his hand. "People called me Ranma".

The other reached out and shook his hand. "Harry."

The bartender placed a bottle and a glace in front of each. "I am Sergei. And that will be $10US each, including tip."

Ranma poured his drink and looked at the contents of the glass. "Clarification of the rules. Are we drinking to get drunk or are we going to be trying and savouring different choices until we can't drink any longer?"

Harry took a large swallow and looked at this drink. "You in a rush to get drunk?" Ranma shook his head, took a small swallow and then took a larger one.

He smiled. "I'd rather take my time. This is different but good. It would be a shame to just sling it back and move to the next one."

They looked at each other, went "Nah!", and then proceeded to drink the cider quickly and smacked their glasses down on the counter.

Ranma smacked his lips. "Not bad, but we really should try a Japanese cider. Sergei, what have you got in Japanese ciders? Comparable to Cripple Cock?"

Sergei consulted his screen. "We do have a recent shipment from Japan. How about Aomori Yukiringo?"

Ranma nodded and looked at Harry. "Comparable to Cripple Cock and much better than Strongbow."

The bottles and glasses were produced and placed in front of each. "Ten dollars, please."

One hour and six rounds later…

Harry looked at Ranma as they picked their way through a plate of cheese nachos. "Ranma, you said you're a martial artist. Just how great are you or is it all bluff?"

Ranma quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Would you believe that I was raised to be a 'man amongst men', and even had a signed suicide agreement when I went on a training trip with my father when I was five years old? Spent ten years on the road with my deadbeat dad trying all sorts of schemes to raising funds, training me and feeding his stomach."

Harry nodded."Well, I'll see your suicide pact and raise you one of mine. I was a year old when a madman burst into my parents' house and killed them and tried to kill me but he wound up killing himself. Got left on my mother's sister's and her husband's doorstep and wound up living in the cupboard until I was eleven and got sent to a boarding school. My bad luck was such that I would up having to keep fighting the now-dead-but-still-returning maniac off at least once a year until I finally got the drop on him and permanently killed him and his minions."

"Shit man, sounds like we're trying to one-up each other over how bad our childhoods were, but we both managed to grow up. So, how come you're warming a barstool in Tiajuana, which is almost halfway around the world from home? Sergei, how about Yona Yona or Suiyobi no Neka, whichever one's is at hand?"

"Coming up! That's twenty dollars American. Sorry, but it is a special order and does not have preservatives but are craft beers."

The two fished some more bills from their wallets and laid them on the counter, and accepted the new beverage bottle and the clean glasses.

As they gently poured their beers, Harry sighed and took a good-sized swallow of his beer. "Hiding out and trying to get my shit together or at least figuring out where I'm going from here. I've got a great wife but have a crazy housemaid who seems to be fixated on me and wants to give me a personalized level of service that is way beyond what is normal or expected. Can't fire her or get rid of her without major hassles. Not my personal reputation will be safe but I really don't care about that."

Ranma nodded and sipped from his beer. "What does your wife think about it, or does she know about it or suspect it?"

Harry slumped and took several swallows of his drink. "Tried to hint at it a couple times and all I got was the 'you are a pervert' expression followed by an argument or a fight. Last time, I got hoofed out of the bedroom and my suitcase flung after me and a yell about not coming back until I got my head back on straight. Made some stupid remark and snarled at the maid on my way out of the door. I took a number of random international and trans-Atlantic flights later, I decided it was time to get a drink, and so I'm here. What about you, Ranma?"

Ranma took a long, slow swallow that consumed the contents of the glass, then placed the now-empty glass on the Sergei-provided coaster. "In addition to my Dad being a deadbeat and schemer, he hit on what he thought was a great method of supplementing our family funds when we ran short or out of food or he decided to go on a short bender while on the training trip. Long story short, I wound up being the recipent of an arranged marriage, followed by a rapid departure as soon as the bride's dowry got into Dad's sticky hands. Once we reached Nerima at the end of the training trip, we rapidly found the aggrieved brides and their fathers popping out of the woodwork, resulting in me having to undertake umpteen trials or quests to resolve the situation, preserve the dignity of the bride and generally satisfy the honour of the father and his family, as well as covering the dowry."

Harry looked at Ranma. "I'm hearing a but in there..."

"Yeah," went Ranma. "Three buts and a possible psychopath. Number One was arranged between my father and the other branch of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts or Indescriminate Grappling, depending up the actual translation when I was a newborn and unknown to me until Dad and I arrived back in Nerima. I got the choice of which of the three daughters of the other branch, but the two older sisters sort of voluntold the youngest daughter who is my age that she was the chosen one. Not happy at all but we keep going around and around. Number Two was a childhood friend, who I thought was a boy. She owns a restuarant in the area and is honour-bound to marry me but I want to keep her as a friend but... Number Three was 'acquired' not in the traditiional manner but as a result of my winning a martial arts challenge because Pop crashed what he thought was a buffer but was actually the prize for a village competition of which she was the champion. Number Four is possibly a certifiable psychopath who decided that she was in love with me and I was reciprocating her feelings. Whole family is a set of nutcases but rich and politically powerful, so one guess where things go with any of them around."

Harry nodded and finished his glass, then consulted the board over the bar. "Bulmer's Cider, the Herfordshire version, Sergei. How much do I owe you?"

Sergei reached into the fridge behind him and drew out two bottles, popped the caps, and produced two more glasses, then collected the empty bottles and glasses. "Twenty dollars for the two, please."

Harry reached into a pocket twiddled his fingers and then pulled out a twenty dollar bill as well as a five dollar bill and passed them over to Sergei, who made the bills disappear.

Ramna goggled at Harry. "I've been watching you do that, Harry, and I can't figure out just how you're doing it. It as if you have a magic wallet that never gets empty and you always have just the bills that you need at hand. What keeps a pickpocket from lifting the wallet off of you and grabbing all of the cash."

Harry poured his cider and took a sip, then nodded at Sergei. "It is a magic wallet tied to my bank account and me. Anyone but me who tries grabbing the wallet or tries dipping into it for some of my funds gets a really nasty surprise. Also is impossible for me to lose it."

Ranma nodded then reached out into the air in front of him and it looked at if his hand disapperared from view. He then pulled a wallet, thumbed through its contents and pullled out a number of bills and tucked them into his shirt pocket and then put the wallet "away" from where he'd extracted it. "Sounds like a variant of the Hidden Weapons technique. Not sure if I'll be able to figure it out, considering the number of drinks we've been putting back."

Ranma took a quick sip and nodded at the flavour, opening his mouth to say something when Sergei leaned across the counter.

"Senors, please do not take this personally, but you have been attracting unwanted attention from some of the others here tonight," taking an obvious glance in the direction of several tables on the peripherery of the barroom. Harry and Ranma took a quick glances across the room and then focussed their attention on Sergei.

"Some of those people over there do not appreciate others who show magical abilities, either from fear of the unknown or your increasing state of inebriation."

Both nodded then looked at each other then looked at Sergei. Harry got in first, "how do you think we should handle this? An overwhelming display of magic and martial arts will probably impress the hell out of them or incite a major riot, and would probably get us into trouble with our relevant law enforcement organizations plus the local one, plus probably wreck this establishment, etc cetera et cetera et cetera."

Ranma cocked an eyebrow. "You sound awfully sober for having consumed a at least a half-dozen beverages of various types and strengths. Are you sure that you aren't using some sprecial technique to counteract alcohol's effects?"

Harry took a hard look at Ranma. "The same might apply to you, Ranma."

Sergei rolled his eyes. "You are not making this easy, gringos! Alright, how do you propose to ensure peace and quiet?"

Harry smirked. "Old trick: scare the bad guys to think that they really don't want to tackle with you and it's easier to let you be. Hey, Ranma, you up to a bit of intimidation?"

"As long as it doesn't cause a riot. Sergei, better check that shotgun that you have under the counter, just in case."

Sergei looked down and back up. "How did you know there was one there?"

Harry slid off of his stool, adjusted his coat and then started over toward the larger clump of drinkers, who started paying attention to his progress towards them while trying not to look that that was what they were doing.

Harry opened his coat in an exaggerated manner and reached into an inner pocket and then pulled out a small leather case. Flipping it open, he showed it to everyone present.

"Yes, Scotland Yard. Now, gentlemen, our bartender has said that our drinking contest has attracted your attention, and has cautioned us that something may happen here or later tonight after we've left. We all know who you are so let's cut to the chase. I will pay for your bar tab, for dinners for everyone plus a reasonable amount for your time. In return, you leave us in peace and make sure that we get to our hotels safe and sound, skins and wallets intact."

The obvious leader leaned forward. "And what makes you think that we are who you think we are, which is an insult to all of us."

Ranma came up and smiled. "I suggest that you check for your knives. I think that they can be found over on the bar. The same goes for your guns. Oh, and by the way, here are your bullets." Ranma dropped a largish collection of bullets of various calibers on the tabletop is a quiet manner, then flipped a napkin over the pile.

Hands went for now-missing knives, knuckle-dusters and handguns. Heads snapped up and turned towards the end of the bar where a pile of weapons lay, with Sergei standing there with his pump-action shotgun in a braced position.

The leader swallowed. "And how much were you going to pay for our ahem services?"

Harry looked at Ramna. "How much would the Yakuza get for a job like this? The London mob would get about a thousand dollars for each of us?"

Ranma nodded. "About the same, but then, they'd have three to six people in the detail. This gentleman and his associates are about eighteen, so I'd go three times that. Sir, does that sound alright for you?"

The leader made a frown. "You said bar tab and dinner. Is that included or extra?"

Harry nodded. "Sergei, what is their bar tab, and how much for two more rounds of drinks and dinner for these fine gentlemen?"

The leader laughed as well as did several of his associates. Sergei held up several fingers.

Harry nodded back. "So, senor, do we have a deal?"

The leader stood up and spat in his hand and extended it to Harry. Harry smiled, spat in his head, and grasped the leader's hand. "Deal!"

The gesture was repeated with Ranma.

Harry and Ranma dipped into their wallets and quickly pulled out the requisite bills, thumbed them for a count and passed the largish stack of bills to the leader. He did a quick count of the pile.

"Senors, but you have given us too many."

Ranma smiled. "Tip. After all, us foreigners don't know who to tip to, so we tip everyone. Have a good evening, gentlemen."

The two returned to their bar stools and picked up their drinks. Sergei looked at them in wonder.

"I thought that you were going to have a fight, flashing around that much cash and making their weapons disappear."

Harry nodded. "Standard intimidation technique. Usually works, as this group did. They didn't want a fight and really didn't know what our abilities were, besides making their toys disappear.

Sergei smiled, nodded, and swept his hand over their still-empty stools. "Wsell, gentlemen, I believe that it is Senor Ranma's turn."

Ranma skimmed the board. "I know that we've been drinking a lot of ciders, but what the hell is 'Sawdust City Blood of Cthulhu'? Do they mean Lovecraft's demon god?"

Sergei smiled. "Russian Imperial Stout, from Ontario in Canada of all places, 9 percent alcohol and a different flavour. Thirty dollars each due to limited availability. Not for everyone."

Ranma and Harry looked at each other, then reached for their wallets. Harry sighed, "in for a penny, in for a pound."

Two hours, a meal, and ten rounds later…

Harry regarded Ranma with an owlish expression. Ranma was engaged in swallowing the latest selection, the taste not exactly to his expectations or something else was setting him off.

"What's up?" Harry whispered. "You reaching your limit?"

Ranma shook his head, then put the glass down. "No, something has curdled my stomach. Someone, probably the old ghoul, is skrying me and will probably put in an appearance within minutes. Looks like our little contest is about to come to an abrupt ending and be declared a mutual loss for both of us."

"What, she's going to drag you back home with a firm grip on your earlobe?"

Ranma snickered and shook his head and took a few more swallows of his beer. "No, she uses her cane like a pogo stick to move about and can flip it to whack you over the head in mid-hop. Totally brutal, and guaranteed to make you comply with her requests rather than face a second or third or fourth whack. "

Harry nidded and tghen twinged. "Oh crap, I think that the same happened to me. Incoming wife and probably the house elf as well. Not sure what your skrying feels like but mine feels like someone has put a hook through your bellybutton and given a good yank."

Ranma nodded. "Sorta the same for me but different. Guess it comes from getting chased down so many times that I've developed a sense of this. Think it's time to get ready for our visitors?"

Harry nodded and waved at Sergei, who stood up from where he was reading his paper and walked over. "Another drink, gentlemen?"

The two shook thier heads. Ranma spoke first. "Looks like we have incoming interruptions that will end the contest. Might as well pay the piper now before our guests arrive and drag us home. Might as well have you decide who is the winner, and we'll pay up."

Sergei nodded and then rubbed his chin. "You both are just about equal in the basic parameters of the contest. Neither of you look like you're about to throw up or pass out, though both of you are definitely under the weather and should not be driving. Since you can't reach one of the end conditions, I guess we might as well call this a draw, and leave it at that."

Harry smiled. "Sounds good to me, but just one thing left. Namely our tip for you for putting up with us for the evening."

He reached for his wallet and riffled through its contents and pulled out a handful of bills and placed it on the counter.

Ranma looked at the pile and pulled out a similar assortment of bills beside Harry's pile.

Sergei looked at the piles and shook his head. "I could not take this. It's way too much."

Harry and Ranma pushed their piles further across the bartop and smiled at Sergei, who sighed and then made the piles disappear.

"It has been a pleasure serving you gentlemen this evening."

Harry and Ranma smiled back, then Harry looked at Ranma. "I must say that I really enjoyed myself tonight, Ranma. I just wish that we could continue this but I fear that we're going to be unable to get in touch with each other."

Ranma nodded. "Same for me, too bad that there isn't a means that we could stay in touch. This has been the most fun that I've had in a long, long time and not had to fight monsters, magicians or gods."

Ranma reached out his hand. "We do need to figure out a means of staying in touch."

Harry reached out his hand and clasped Ranma's. "I swear by my magic that I will get in touch with you."

Ranma shook Harry's hand. "I swear on my honour as a martial artist that I will get in touch with you."

The two belched and laughed at the other as they continued shaking hands, not noticing the glow from their hand.

A set of loud cracks from the corners of the room made everyone jump. One corner now had a short wizened old crone standing balanced on a cane, while the other corner had a red-haired younger woman in robes, accompanied by a shorter creature with floppy ears.

"Ranma!", "Harry!" the two called out at the same time, then noticed the other party, and glared at each other.

Harry and Ranma stood up and hugged each other, then started walking towards the two ladies, then collapsed unto the floor.

The two women stepped forward and placed a hand on one of the two drinkers, and they disappeared in a flash of light.

Sergei looked at the last of the patrons sitting at their tables and shrugged. "Gringos! They're all crazy!"


End file.
